The Bishop of Hereford shifted uncomfortably on his seat within his carriage, wondering how much longer it could possibly be before he arrived in Nottingham.
So far, he and his guard had made it through Sherwood Forest without incident. With every mile they travelled, he grew more and more convinced the stories he'd heard of an outlaw called Robin Hood were vastly exaggerated. His guard, too, seemed to relax as they neared the edge of the woods, spying the towers of Nottingham Castle in the distance.
Without warning, the bishop heard the captain of his guard call out, "Halt!" and felt his carriage jolt to a stop.
"What is the meaning of this?" the bishop demanded, throwing open his door and peering out at the road.
"Drive on," he commanded, when spying the reason for the delay. "It's nothing but a peasant."
"With respect, Your Reverence," his captain demurred, "the man's been wounded. Near fatally, by the looks of him. May we not render him assistance?"
A young man staggered into the road, blood dripping from his head, his bright blue eyes looking unnaturally bright, then dropped to his knees.
"What happened to you?" the bishop asked, his tone ringing with impatience.
"Robin Hood!" the sturdy young man croaked. "He robbed me! Took my last hae penny! Now I've nothin'! Please, help me! My wife's expectin' a child, and how'll I feed her now?"
"Robin Hood?" the bishop asked, unconvinced. "From what I've been told, he doesn't rob peasants! Only the rich need fear him. What would he want with your hae penny?"
"Times are hard, even for outlaws, what with the King needin' ransom money!"
"You look like a strapping young fellow. Couldn't you fight him for your money?"
Allan, enjoying his role as a wounded peasant, couldn't let that comment go unchallenged. "Yeah. Well, I coulda won, but he pulled a knife on me."
"This is an outrage!" the bishop cried. "Robbing a peasant of his only hae penny? Where is this thief, this Robin Hood now?"
Allan, pretending to be close to fainting, pointed a finger from the direction he'd come. "There's a reward on his head, too. More than 500 pounds, just waitin' for someone to claim it! Wish it'd been me. He's alone there, too, and can't shoot, 'cause I broke his bowstring in our fight. If I wasn't hurt, I'd go back in and try my luck!"
The bishop's greedy mind could visualize the reward money glittering in his coffers. "Well, what are you waiting for?" he snapped at his guard. "You heard the peasant! Get after the outlaw, and bring him to me! If I manage to capture the elusive Fox of Sherwood, Prince John will bestow an archbishopship on me! After him, fools!"
The bishop's guards took off running into the forest, hands on their sword hilts.
The bishop turned to Allan. "What are you still doing here? Be off with you!"
"I thought maybe Your Holiness might have an alm or somethin' you can give me, to feed my wife and child."
"I am not the Pope!" Not yet, anyway, the bishop was thinking. "And I thought you said your wife was expecting!"
"Oh! Right! She had it! No, wait! It's our second one. Make that our tenth. Like you said, I'm a strappin' young fellow."
"Get out of my sight! If I gave money to every peasant who begged for it, I'd have nothing left. If it's money you need, I suggest you work. Now, begone, before I horsewhip you out of my sight!"
"Horsewhipping won't be necessary," a smooth, cultured, smug male voice replied from above. "My friends and I will leave you, as soon as we've collected our toll."
The bishop watched in alarm, as the peasant tugged the cap off his head and tossed it to the ground. "What was that gooey red stuff, Robin? Looked and smelled like blood."
A man dropped to his feet from above, startling the bishop.
"Sheep's bladder, Allan," the young man answered. "Sorry about that. Convincing, though. Your acting's improving, too. You cleared the guards away."
The bishop broke into a cold sweat as even more people dropped, one by one, from the treetops. The outlaws either aimed arrows his direction, or pointed their swords at him. A huge, hairy giant, probably the one known as "Little John," was brandishing a quarterstaff. One of those holding a bow was stunningly female.
"We won't delay you, much," the leader, obviously Robin Hood, was saying. "Take everything," he instructed his men.
"Everything? You cannot touch my things! They are church property!"
The outlaw snickered, making the bishop long to slap him. "If you'd been kind, and given Allan here a coin or two when he asked, your donation would be smaller. Typically, we only take a tenth. But, since you were unkind..."
"This is an outrage! You will burn in hell for this!"
"Well, that's a risk I'm willing to take." The outlaw's eyes rested upon the bishop's hands. "Give me your rings," he ordered, softly.
"I will not!"
Robin snickered again, his manner charming and determined. "I have use for them," he smilingly told the bishop. "Especially the emerald."
"You know nothing of jewels, if you favor the emerald on my pinkie! It's worth far less than this ruby!"
"All the same, I want it."
"No."
"John?"
The giant loomed forward, and the bishop squeaked, "You're not going to cut off my fingers, are you?"
"We are not the sheriff. We do not maim. Too messy," Robin said, still charming.
Little John lunged forward, and the bishop cried, "Alright! Take them! But you will pay for this, outlaw!"
The bishop was pleased that the vile Robin Hood would indeed pay, sooner rather than later, for he could see his guard stealthily creeping back from their wild goose chase through the forest, poised to attack.
